She sat upright in her armchair, with a stately, immovable, passionless air, that it seemed as if nothing could disturb. She looked very steadfastly at Mr. Peggotty when he stood before her; and he looked quite as steadfastly at her. Rosa Dartle’s keen glance comprehended all of us. For some moments not a word was spoken.

She motioned to Mr. Peggotty to be seated. He said, in a low voice, “I shouldn’t feel it nat’ral, ma’am, to sit down in this house. I’d sooner stand.” And this was succeeded by another silence, which she broke thus:

“I know, with deep regret, what has brought you here. What do you want of me? What do you ask me to do?”

He put his hat under his arm, and feeling in his breast for Emily’s letter, took it out, unfolded it, and gave it to her. “Please to read that, ma’am. That’s my niece’s hand!”